


Angels Never Come To Such Men's Prayers

by branwyn



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Douglas doesn't like not knowing things, Gen, Martin has a stalker, Martin is very special indeed, and something bad happens to an animal, but I don't go into detail because there are some things even I won't write, paternal!Douglas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/branwyn/pseuds/branwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's extremely frustrating, caring about Martin.</p><p> </p><p>For this prompt: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=3770066#cmt3770066</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels Never Come To Such Men's Prayers

"Douglas," says Martin, "have you ever been sent a…love letter?"

Douglas, who has just taken one step toward the loo, comes to a full-body halt and looks over at Martin, who is staring determinedly over the instrument panel. There's a tight expression on his face, at odds with the determinedly casual tone of his voice, and every line of his body radiates tension.

"Naturally," says Douglas, once he's collected himself. It isn't often he's taken by surprise, after all, least of all by the sad little man who sits beside him in the captain's seat. "Really, Martin, such an obvious question. Why on earth do you ask?"

Martin squirms slightly in his seat and pinks, rather, about the ears.

"I just wondered." he says. "Were they ever--um."

"Ever _what_?"

"Nothing. Actually, yes, nothing. Never mind. Forget I said anything."

Douglas peers at the boy, suspicion rising. "That," he says, "was incoherent, even for you."

"Yes, I'm sorry, I said never mind."

Douglas leaves the cockpit, but not before subjecting Martin to the double eyebrow treatment. He's surprised how disappointed he is when Martin proves too distracted to notice, or squirm.

*

When they return to Fitton at the end of a short flight two days later, Martin is extremely twitchy, for a value of 'extremely twitchy' that takes into account Martin's baseline level of twitchiness, which is significantly higher than that of the average thirty-four year old male.

"Where are you parked?" says Martin, as they wrap up the log books and start down the steps toward the carpark.

"The same place I always park," says Douglas. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." His voice is strained, higher pitched than normal. Martin doesn't do casual well even when he is casual, and he does forced-casual about as convincingly as a man with a gun to his head.

Douglas glances at him, and something about the tense set of Martin's jaw makes him say, "If you're having trouble with the van, I could walk out with you while you get it started up. I've got jumping cables in my car if you need them."

Martin isn't notoriously graceful about accepting offers of help. He tends to stammer and turn red and fend them off, because pride is what he clings to in the absence of security. But tonight, he doesn't do any of that. He just swallows, and nods, and sets off toward the opposite end of the car park, his eyes darting nervously left, then right, as they approach the van.

Before he opens the driver's door, he takes a miniature torch from his pocket and shines it through the windows in the van's back doors.

"What on earth are you doing?" Douglas frowns at him.

Martin turns the torch off and sticks it back into his pocket.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, and climbs into the van, which starts without so much as a hiccup, and drives away.

*

If Martin's behavior has been a little surprising over the last couple of weeks, it's still nothing to how surprised Douglas is when a flower arrangement is delivered to the portacabin a week later, and it isn't for Carolyn. Herc has an annoying habit of making these cliched little gestures, and Carolyn has an even more annoying habit of being secretly pleased by them. But Carolyn isn't around, and Martin is in the canteen, digging up lunch for the two of them, so it's Douglas who signs for the lilies and Douglas who is told that they're for Captain Martin Crieff.

There's no one around to stop him (he's not sure how much difference it would have made if there had been--he's pretty curious and pretty good at getting what he wants.) He opens the card for a quick peep. No signature. How terribly disappointing.

"Martin, you lucky devil," he chimes, turning, as he hears the door open behind him. "See what's just arrived for you."

"Arrived for me? What--" Martin turns ashen, as Douglas steps away from the desk to reveal the flowers.

"What's the matter? Not your favorites?" Douglas says it lightheartedly, but it comes out forced, because Martin is staring at the flowers as though they're crawling with spiders, or dripping with bile.

"Did you read the card?" says Martin finally. He stands where he is, as though reluctant to come any nearer.

It's on the tip of Douglas's tongue to make some sort of joke, to pretend to be wounded by the question, but the look on Martin's face is one of the least funny things he's ever seen and suddenly he's not in the mood to crack wise. "It's blank," he says.

Martin exhales, his shoulders dropping. "Get rid of them," he says, turning for the door again.

"Martin." Douglas has taken a step after him before he's quite realized what he's doing. Martin's behavior is verging from the peculiar to the downright disturbing. He's seen Martin look smug, fearful, angry, and humiliated, but he's never before seen the boy look so _hunted_. He doesn't like it at all. He doesn't like the increasingly obvious fact that there's something going on here that he doesn't understand. If there's anything Douglas prides himself on, it's being three steps ahead of everybody else at all times. 

"Just--" Martin pauses in the open doorway, with his back to Douglas. "Please, Douglas. Throw them away, or take them home. Whatever you like."

He walks off, before Douglas can think of anything to say that will stop him.

Douglas frowns down at the bouquet, now his if he wants it, and considers the possibilities. He's not seeing anyone at the moment, and even if he were, he wouldn't give lilies to someone as a romantic token. It would make the rest of their date smell like a funeral.

He reaches for the flowers, to carry them to the bin, when the implications of the previous thought strike home, and his hand freezes.

 

*

"So these…love letters you've received," says Douglas the next morning, in his own version of a casual voice, which very nearly convinces even him. "Who's the girl? Is she nice?"

"What?" Martin jumps, looking at Douglas wide-eyed. "I--no, it's--damn you, Douglas, I told you I didn't want to talk about it anymore."

He bolts from the cockpit before Douglas can point out that he'd never said any such thing.

* 

Douglas starts parking his Lexus in the vicinity of Martin's van, so that he has an excuse to accompany Martin without looking like he's doing it deliberately. He's fairly certain that Martin knows this, but he doesn't comment, and Douglas doesn't bring it up. 

Exactly four weeks after Martin first asked Douglas about love letters, they arrive at their vehicles, only to discover that Martin's tires have been slashed. 

They halt at the same time, and after a second Douglas lets out a low whistle.

"Right," says Martin, and Douglas turns to look at him, because the Martin he thought he knew should be indulging in lamentations that would put the prophet to shame, but there's no wailing or tearing of hair to be seen, just a grim sort of acceptance. "Right. There's the rent gone, then."

"I'll call the police," says Douglas, but when he reaches for his phone, Martin grabs his arm.

"Just--will you give me a lift home?" he says, in the same quiet voice.

"Martin--"

"I don't want the police, Douglas, I--I just want to get home. Please."

Douglas can sense that he's on the verge of assimilating all these odd clues into a theory that will make sense of what's happening, but he isn't there yet, and the frustration makes him speak more sharply than he means to. 

"Do you know who's done this?" he demands.

Martin's shoulders hunch, and he looks away.

"All right, Martin." Douglas puts a hand to the boy's shoulder briefly, then unlocks the passenger door of the Lexus for him. Martin gets in, Douglas takes his seat behind the wheel, and they drive to Martin's flat.

"May I come in?" says Douglas, when they reach the house. It's dark and deserted, and he supposes the students are away on their holidays.

"Oh, do you want to?" Martin blinks at him, startled, then colors. "I mean, yes, of course. I haven't got anything in, I'm afraid, but I can make tea."

"Tea would be lovely." If he'd anticipated any of this, Douglas would have brought wine or something stronger, in the hopes of loosening Martin's tongue, but he'll just have to rely on his own powers of persuasion.

Once inside, Martin puts the kettle on, then excuses himself to go up to his room and change out of his uniform. Douglas watches him climb the stairs, hears the creak and then the thump of the door in the ceiling being lowered and the stairs unfolding.

A few seconds later, Martin yells. Douglas stands up so quickly the chair falls over. He climbs the stairs, then stands at the bottom of the ladder.

"Martin, are you all right?" No answer. "I'm coming up."

The ladder creaks so much that Douglas is half afraid he's too heavy for it, but he makes it to the top and finds Martin standing in the middle of the room, staring down at an open drawer.

Artfully arranged in the middle of Martin's jeans and t-shirts is the corpse of a dead cat.

"Oh God." Douglas presses a hand to his mouth. "What on earth--"

"She's mine," says Martin dully. "Sort of mine, anyway. I leave food for her outside. If it's raining, sometimes I sneak her up to my room for--"

His voice breaks. Douglas tears his eyes away from the drawer and looks at Martin, and a second later he's grasping him by the elbow and leading him back down the ladder.

The kettle's boiled by the time they get back to the kitchen. Douglas shoves Martin into a kitchen chair and makes the tea himself, spooning a generous amount of sugar into Martin's cup. He places the mug by Martin's elbow and turns his chair to face Martin's.

"Are you ready to tell me what's going on now?" he says.

Martin takes a deep, shuddering breath, then gulps his tea. When he puts the cup aside, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a much folded yellow envelope and places it on the table before them.

"I was about to anyway," he says.

*

Douglas doesn't _quite_ haul Martin into the nearest police station by the scruff of his neck, but he keeps his hand planted squarely on Martin's back, between his shoulder blades, the better to seize his collar if he should attempt to bolt.

When the police ask for the keys to his flat and ask him if he has somewhere else to spend the next couple of nights, Douglas tells them that Martin is coming home with him. Martin looks at him with wide eyes, apparently on the verge of protesting. Douglas gives him a stern look, and Martin deflates, and allows Douglas to lead him to the car.

Douglas settles Martin on the couch with a pillow and blanket, then sits in the armchair, waiting for Martin to speak. He's prepared to wait a long time, if necessary.

"He might come here, you know," says Martin eventually.

"And risk the thrashing of a lifetime? I think not," says Douglas tersely, a little surprised by how quickly the anger springs up, and how satisfying the prospect of solving this whole stupid mess with his fists would be. But that's Martin, all over. He's frustrating precisely because he's always neck deep in trouble, and none of his troubles have ready solutions. It makes it very hard to care for him. And it's becoming increasingly to Douglas that not-caring for Martin is not an option.

"I'm serious, Douglas." Martin flushes. "He went after my van and my--my cat. I haven't got anything else, except. Well."

"Well?" Douglas arches an eyebrow.

"You're the closest thing I have to a friend." Martin's flush extends to his neck and hairline. "His letter said he was going to take away everything I cared about, and at this point there isn't anything left but you."

Douglas clears his throat, which is, suddenly, oddly tight. "I may be many disreputable things, Martin," he says. "But I hope I'm not the sort of man who would dishonor a sentiment like that by being less than willing to undertake a little risk for the sake of friendship."

A long silence passes. Eventually, Martin scrubs irritably at his damp eyelashes. "I don't see why he's so obsessed with me in the first place," he mutters. "Celebrities have stalkers, but me? I'm the complete opposite of…special."

Douglas opens his mouth, but all that escapes is air. He stares at Martin, sitting with his elbows on his knees, and wonders how anyone so entirely wet and so completely the butt of life's jokes ever learned to speak his heart with such bollocks-shriveling honesty. There's something almost terrifying about it to Douglas, who has always managed to get more or less exactly what he wants out of life by the simple expedient of saying or doing whatever is necessary to get it. 

Martin is unbending, fearlessly and relentlessly determined to be himself, whatever it costs him. It's a quality possessed by saints and heroes, and the day Martin finally makes peace with it, the world will be a measurably better place.

"You have the most integrity of any person I've ever met," Douglas tells him. "You may not think that's anything to get excited about, but when you've lived a bit longer, you'll start to appreciate how rare that is."

Martin's head jerks up, and he looks at Douglas disbelievingly.

"Not that it isn't still a little _weird_ ," says Douglas, reaching for the remote and clicking the television on. "I mean, you're ginger, for heaven's sake. What can he be thinking?"

There's a very faint snort audible under the noise of the television, but when Douglas steals a glance at Martin again, he sees him smiling.


End file.
